


a world made quiet

by quixilvr



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: AU of Vile Village, F/M, Fix-It, Tea!, happy endings (for once)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-19 04:30:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14229315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quixilvr/pseuds/quixilvr
Summary: In which Olivia and the Baudelaires make a daring rescue, orphans are saved from evil, and the world is set to right.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Damn you, Nathan Fillion, you know I can't resist you.
> 
> Eventual spoilers for the fire survivor, as well as some general spoilers for the last few books (up to Grim Grotto).

_“It says the day is coming when all our enemies will be defeated.”_

_“And what then? Marriage? Children?”_

The words hang in the air between them, Jacques already sure that he’s said too much. Olivia smiles without hesitation and replies, “Only if we rescue them.”

They discuss VFD matters, chairs pulled so close together that their knees are almost touching, heads bowed towards each other conspiratorially. It sets Jacques to reflection as a comfortable silence falls. He thinks of Lemony, quietly brooding over an unattainable love for years. He thinks of Kit, scattering affection wherever she thought it was needed and picking up disastrous heartbreaks along the way. For the first time in a very long while, he casts his mind back to his own, admittedly little, experience with the nebulous concept of falling in love.

In fact, he doesn’t think he has much real experience at all. There had been certain people, in the all too brief period of rebellion of his younger days, but most of his infatuated encounters had been tinted with vague embarrassment and a persistent sense of guilt that he was shirking his responsibility to look after his siblings. If that was what love was supposed to feel like, Jacques had decided that he would have nothing to do with that particular human experience.

His opinion has, as of recently, changed rather drastically.

The little police station office is warm, and Olivia’s eyes are intelligent, and all Jacques can think about is her perfectly formed mouth and how soft it would be against his. She dips her head to study her own tea leaves, their patterns a mystery to him; her long hair is beginning to fall softly across her face, and in the only moment of impulse he can allow himself, he reaches out to brush it back behind her ear. She looks up at him, gaze full of surprise and warmth; it fills him with a sense of something caught between hope and dread - he wishes that he could be as sure of the future as she is.

He’s almost afraid that if he does examine these feelings too deeply, this trance she’s put him under will break, or he’ll begin to doubt, lose her somehow. He’s always envied his sister’s ability to accept emotions as if they were cold facts instead of puzzles to be solved. Love was love. Rage was rage. Heartbreak was heartbreak. No need to overcomplicate things.

Alright, that last part is blatantly untrue. Kit’s mission in life had always been to overcomplicate things. She had found it in herself to love that villain slumped in a jail cell down below, after all. Jacques doesn’t like to dwell on the fact that Olaf had managed to tear the Snickets apart for a short time; he gets the feeling that, for all his villainy, Olaf doesn’t either.

It had probably been their shared flair for the dramatic that had brought Kit and Olaf together in the first place, just as Lemony and Beatrice had shared almost lethal curiosity. What do he and Olivia share, Jacques wonders - a sense of responsibility? How romantic.

“What do your leaves say?” he asks, pulling his chair a little closer.

“They say…” Olivia lets out a small laugh, quietly. “That we have many adventures yet to come.”

“I should hope so,” Jacques says. “You’re an excellent adventuring partner, Olivia Caliban.”

“I could say the same to you, Jacques Snicket,” she replies, a playful smile dancing at her mouth.

There’s a beat of silence, in which a thousand mixed-up thoughts swirl in his head, just about ready to tumble out of his mouth - _stay with me, you’re beautiful, I want you to be happy, I want to make you happy, I love--_

The problem with the Snicket family is that they have never been able to do anything by halves; this has proved to be rather inconvenient at times, especially when concerning volunteer work for secret organisations, petty fights between siblings, and matters of the heart. Jacques knows this. He knows that now isn’t the right time. And he is determined to get this right.

Suddenly a muffled, unintelligible voice comes from downstairs, followed by a loud, metallic crash. Jacques is on his feet in a moment, Olivia following right behind. She places a hand on his shoulder, and even in his sudden tense state, her touch still sends a thrill down his spine.

“I can handle this,” Jacques says. “Olaf’s no threat to us now.”

Olivia shoots her partner a sharp look. “I wouldn’t be so overconfident,” she replies, moving towards the door. Just as she does, it begins to open.

“I’d listen to the lady if I was you, Snicket,” says Count Olaf, with a terrible smile. He steps into the room backed by his henchpeople, as well as a police officer wearing pink thigh-high boots and aviator glasses. Olivia freezes in her tracks.

“Olaf!” Jacques exclaims, striding forward to place himself between Olivia and the villains. “However you escaped, your schemes are over. Officer, this man has been apprehended on charges of arson, kidnapping and multiple counts of murder. We are hereby handing him and his associates over to the rightful authorities so that he may be punished for his crimes.”

The policewoman smiles coldly as she pulls off her sunglasses. “Well, thank you, darling,” she says, turning to nod towards a tall, bald man standing just behind Olaf, “but I’m afraid it’s you we’re after.”

“Jacques!” Olivia cries as the bald man grabs his arms.

“Go!” is all he answers, his focus on fighting off Olaf’s cohorts. Olivia skitters backwards, crashing into the desk and scattering papers as she goes.

“Hey!” call a pair of voices as she reaches the window, and when she whirls around, the white-faced twins are advancing on her. From behind, she feels a pair of hands clutching her shoulders.

“Sorry about this,” says the henchperson of indeterminate gender, right before she wrenches herself out of their grasp and punches them square in the stomach. “Ow,” they wheeze as they double over.

The window’s catch is rusty, but Olivia manages to open it with fumbling fingers just as the white-faced women grab her wrists. She yanks herself away and kicks out at them wildly, shoving the window open with her elbow. She’s already climbing out of the window and grabbing hold of the flimsy water pipe attached to the wall when she realises that in her fear- and adrenaline-fueled state, she’s just put herself into a whole different kind of danger. Still, the worst she can imagine happening is an injury from the fall, and in the end what's more important, her safety or the opportunity to rescue Jacques?

She wishes she could say that they make some kind of last contact before she escapes, but when she gives one last quick glance into the by-now destroyed office, Jacques is on his knees, head bent, with Esme standing above him, taser in hand. Olivia chokes down the scream in her throat, pushes off from the windowsill, and drops.

  


* * *

  


He probably should have taken the possibility of treachery into consideration.

His captors are loud enough, however, that he’s been listening to Olaf and Esme arguing upstairs for the better part of an hour.

“I can’t _believe_ you only managed to capture Snicket,” it begins. “How could you betray me like that?”

Once a drama kid, always a drama kid, Jacques reflects.

“Well, perhaps if you had _helped_ at all, we’d have caught both of them,” Esme replies, her own voice calm but sharp as broken glass. “Anyway, the henchpeople are out searching for that awful woman, darling - I told them to follow the smell of paste. They’ll find her. That’s assuming she even left our brave volunteer to fend for himself, which,” - she gives a short, barking laugh - “I highly doubt she has.”

“You severely overestimate the competence of my henchpeople,” Olaf grumbles, and then shoots back, “Besides, the point was to capture both of them!”

“You’re not afraid of a little _librarian_ , are you?”

“No! But there’s always someone meddling with my plans! It’s usually those _orphans_ , but --”

“Darling, you’re starting to sound like a cartoon supervillain, it’s really not flattering.”

From there, the argument descends into petty jabs against character that Jacques finds to be of little interest. As much as he would usually hate to admit it, he agrees with Esme - Olivia would never abandon him. They may only have known each other for a relatively short time, but he knows that much. There’s no doubt in his mind that she’s going to hatch a genius plot, come back to break him out of this cell, and most definitely find both sets of children while she’s at it.

She’s coming for him. With this fact planted firmly in his mind and hope nestled in his heart, Jacques sits back in his deluxe jail cell, and waits.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned out slightly (a word which here means _a lot_ ) longer than I meant it to be. Spoilers up to Grim Grotto.

Olivia’s knees are scraped and stinging, and she swears that her heart thumping against her ribs could physically bruise. Mercifully, and thanks to a radio signal picked up on the road from one of Jacques’s VFD allies, she knows exactly where to go; even from a mile away, the outline of Nevermore Tree is starkly visible against the clear night sky.

She keeps to shadows, fully aware that Olaf’s henchpeople will have been sent out to search for her. If she can stay ahead of them, she may reach the house at the edge of town before they do - but she has no way to know for sure. _So this is what being on the lam feels like_ , she thinks to herself as she slips through the dark.

Olivia used to be afraid of taking risks. She had always been the child sitting in an especially quiet corner of the school library with a pile of books at her feet while outside, the shrieks and laughter of her classmates echoed from the playground. Hushed conversation and rustling pages, the smell of new ink and old bindings - libraries of any kind became a comfort zone, one she didn’t have the courage to step out of for most of her life. It seems like so long ago now that she was struggling to keep Prufrock Prep’s shelves stocked with books that no one ever came to read.

She had been lonely, but she doesn’t regret that time; without it, she never would have met Jacques, never would have discovered mysteries hiding in plain sight or learned of brave orphans in need of help. Risks are worth it when taking them makes even a small difference to the world.

She’s too scared to slow down in case Olaf’s troupe makes an appearance, so it doesn’t take her long to reach the outskirts of town. Nevermore Tree looms out of the darkness as she approaches the ramshackle barn, the shadow alive with small movements from the sleeping crows perched in its branches. It’s late, judging by the position of the moon rising high above the silhouetted tree, but a light is still shining dimly from the barn's only window. Olivia steps closer and knocks, three quick taps against the splintering wood.

She waits a minute, about to knock again, when the door opens a crack and a nervous-looking eye peers out from inside.

“Who are you?” the owner of the eye asks hesitantly.

“My name is Olivia Caliban,” replies Olivia, “and the world is quiet here.”

The eye widens, and then the door abruptly scrapes open to reveal a short man who looks at her with surprise and a healthy amount of suspicion. “You’re with VFD?” he asks, voice low.

Olivia nods. “A new recruit, you might say,” she replies as he allows her to step inside. “I assume you are as well, or at least, Jacques said you were.”

The man nods, his lips pressed together into a thin line. “Yes, Jacques and I have known each other for a long time. I’m Hector.”

“I’m glad to meet you, Hector. I’m afraid that I need you and the Baudelaires to help me get Jacques out of a tricky situation.”

Hector’s face immediately turns pallid, and he swallows once before he speaks again. “I’m sure the Baudelaires would be of assistance, but Jacques knows I’m not really active in the organisation anymore. I just keep an eye on the town and notify him of any strange happenings.”

“Well, any help I can get would be appreciated.” Olivia is trying not to let her desperation show, but she wants to get Jacques out of Olaf’s clutches as soon as possible.

“Hector?” a young, tired-sounding voice sounds from deeper inside. Olivia turns her attention away from the nervous man for the first time, and blinks. There’s a massive contraption taking up most of the space in the barn, and the eaves are filled with giant green balloons attached to its hub. An airship, of sorts -- Olivia has never seen anything like it.

Klaus Baudelaire is standing atop the hull of the airship, stifling a yawn with one hand as he adjusts his glasses with the other. “Hector, who are you talking to?” he asks, squinting down at the two adults. Olivia gives him a smile; his reaction is a confused frown. “Ms Caliban? What are you doing here?”

“It’s a long story, Klaus,” Olivia says with a shake of her head, “that will have to wait a while. Until then, I could really use your help.”

When Violet and Sunny have joined the audience, both sleepy-eyed, Olivia explains as much of the story as she can to the group; Hector looks a little woozy through most of it, and faints as soon as Olivia brings up the idea of a jailbreak.

“Does he do this often?” she asks as she leans over the man’s prone body.

“Enough that we’ve got used to it,” Klaus replies as he walks over to a filing cabinet in the corner. “He’ll come around in a minute.” The cabinet’s metal drawer opens with a screech, and Klaus begins to rifle through its contents quickly. “Do you need the blueprints to the police station?” he asks, looking over his shoulder towards his sister for confirmation.

“Yes,” Violet replies, her focus on pulling her hair back into a ponytail. Olivia wonders how she can manage to keep it so neat using a ribbon; that takes skill that she’s never been able to acquire. “I have an idea, but I'll need to look over the blueprints first to see if it'll work. And it would be helpful to ask Hector some questions,” she adds, casting a dispirited look towards their guardian’s body.

“Geesh!” says Sunny from the floor, putting a hand on Hector’s face. He stirs, eyelids fluttering, and then pulls himself up from the floor with a groan.

_He bounces back quickly_ , Olivia thinks to herself as Violet calls for him and he rushes to meet her at the airship’s hub.

“Ms Caliban,” says Klaus, approaching her with a rolled up blueprint under his arm. “Would you be able to tell me which cell Jacques Snicket is being held in?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know exactly,” Olivia replies, “but there were really only two cells in any state to be used.” When Klaus unfurls the blueprint, she points out the two neat white boxes. “The deluxe cell was the one we placed Olaf in. He may have done the same to Jacques.”

Sunny, now sitting at her feet, lets out a loud cry and tugs on Olivia’s skirt. Klaus considers his sister’s outburst for a moment. “Sunny wants to know more about Jacques Snicket,” he explains, and then, his voice turned doubtful, asks, “Is he trustworthy?” There’s a second’s pause. “We don’t mean to offend,” he quickly adds. “It’s only, most of the adults we’ve met so far, barring you and Hector, have either tried to kill us or been of no help at all... and we’ve never met him.”

Olivia understands perfectly. This boy has a practical mind; she’s always admired that quality. She takes a second to gather her thoughts on the topic of Jacques Snicket. _Brave. Kind. Handsome. Clever._

“Jacques,” she says, and finds that even in such serious circumstances she can’t suppress her smile at the sound of his name, “is the most noble man I’ve ever met. He came to this village to rescue you and the Quagmires from Count Olaf, and I promise you, he won’t rest until Olaf and his nefarious crew are behind bars. I’d trust him with my life.”

_I already have._

Klaus seems satisfied, and turns his attention back to studying the blueprints. Olivia finds herself alone with her thoughts for the first time since Jacques was captured; she can't shake the image of him waiting for her in that dark little cell. Since she met him, he had always seemed invulnerable - saving him seems an impossible task.

“What have I got us into, Sunny?” she asks the toddler at her feet.

“Blegh!” says Sunny, helpfully.

  


* * *

  


The cell is indeed dark, and rather cold, but it isn't as if Jacques was planning on getting comfortable anyway. He's spent the night so far inspecting every inch of the grimy cell to find a weak point, and occasionally fending off mockery from Olaf or his henchpeople.

Currently the henchperson of indeterminate gender is standing guard outside the cell; they’re leaning against the wall, reading a book with a salacious-looking cover. Some other members of VFD would never approve of such reading material, but Jacques himself has never seen the point in judging a person by the books they choose to read, as long as they take interest in the reading itself - that, to his mind, is the most important part. It interests Jacques that this henchperson reads for entertainment at all, given the people with which they’re aligned.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” he says, tone conversational, and the henchperson looks up quickly, “why do you choose to follow Count Olaf? What could possibly be in it for you?”

The henchperson looks at him with suspicion, but doesn’t reply.

“I can’t imagine the pay is high,” Jacques adds with a smirk.

“He doesn’t pay us at all,” the henchperson says flatly.

“Then why stay? Surely working for him for nothing isn’t worth risking your morals.”

“If you’re trying to talk your way out of that cell, it isn’t going to work.”

“I wouldn’t think of it,” Jacques says. “I’m merely curious as to his appeal.”

There’s a silence, to the point that Jacques is almost about to give up on the brief conversation, when the henchperson shrugs.

“I suppose it could be because I’ve always been a passive person, and working for someone who’s so controlling allows me to embrace that quality rather than take the more difficult step of becoming an active member of a functioning society,” they say, voice monotone to the end. Another shrug, somehow more apathetic than the last, “Or maybe it’s because I like the costumes.”

Jacques blinks. “I see.”

“Orlando!” shouts a voice from somewhere nearby. A split second later, the hook-handed man rushes into vision. “Are you talking to the prisoner? Boss told us we weren’t supposed to unless it’s for mockery.”

“He just asked me a question,” says the henchperson.

“Nothing wrong with that, is there?” Jacques adds.

“Quiet,” snaps the hook-handed man.

He turns, about to leave, when Jacques says, “Oh by the way, Fernald, Fiona sends her love.”

Fernald freezes for an instant, his eyes wide, and then says, “You’re lying.”

“Maybe I am, but that doesn’t change the fact that she'd still welcome you back.”

Jacques is sure that Fernald’s scowl falters into something softer for just a moment, but then his features twist again, and he brings a hook down onto the bars of Jacques’s cell with a clang. “I know what you’re trying to do, Snicket,” he snarls, before turning to walk away, hooks somehow shoved into the pockets of his thin coat.

At least he tried, Jacques reasons. His methods might have been a tad manipulative, he’ll admit, but Fernald had once been a vital member of VFD - and he could be again. There’s always room for more volunteers.

He _is_ starting to get a little restless though. He still can’t imagine that his brave, beautiful Olivia would leave him at the mercy of these villains, but he does hope that her rescue will come sooner rather than later. He has no way to measure time, the ancient scratches on the walls counting off days notwithstanding, but if he had to make a guess, he’d say that by now it must be somewhere near dawn.

  


* * *

  


Rosy streaks are melting slowly across the sky when Olivia and the Baudelaires set out for town, wheeling Violet’s invention in front of them. The contraption consists of a sharp, solid pickaxe attached to a wind-up spring controlled by a circular handle - it looks like it’s being held together with hope and bits of string, but Violet seems confident in its abilities.

Klaus has dropped a little way behind the group, head down as he studies the two little pieces of paper in his hands, by the time they reach the town square. It’s deserted this early in the morning, but Olivia is still tense at the idea of being out in the open in daylight; she’s also unwilling, however, to let any of the children fall behind for fear that she won’t be able to protect them if the need arises.

“Klaus?” she says softly when he stops in the dust at the edge of the square. “We need to keep moving.”

“I know,” Klaus says, looking towards the fountain. Isadora’s latest couplet is sitting in his palm, slightly crumpled. “I’m just worried. We still need to find Duncan and Isadora.”

“Jacques will help us once we break him out,” Olivia replies, before reaching out to softly touch the boy’s shoulder. “I promise, we will find them. But we need to go now, before anyone sees us.”

For a fraction of a second Klaus seems to hesitate, but then he nods and runs ahead to catch up with his siblings.

They move along the edges of crumbling buildings until they reach the back of the police station. Klaus holds the blueprints up to the wall until he finds the best place to put the pickaxe to use; “It should be right here,” he says eventually, indicating a spot that looks no different to the rest of the wall.

“Good luck,” Olivia adds, and Sunny calls a babbled encouragement of her own. Violet sets to work winding up the spring, and when she lets it go, the pickaxe slams into the wall, taking a chunk out of the cement. Once, twice, three times more and there’s a hole forming, bricks crumbling as Violet’s invention chips away at the wall. Olivia tries not to let herself get too excited; she’s not accustomed to plans working in her favour as of late.

“Olivia!” calls a voice from inside.

Violet pauses to calculate the best place to attack, and then wheels the invention towards that strategic position. She pulls on the handle one last time, lets the axe go - and when it smashes into the bricks, the last remains of the wall collapse in a cloud of dust and fractured pieces of cement.

Jacques Snicket steps out of the ruin, himself partly covered in a thin layer of cement dust. Olivia doesn’t care in the slightest; she rushes to him, and he immediately wraps his arms around her, picking her up off her feet.

“I never doubted you,” he murmurs. Olivia feels warm and glowing, and she buries her face in his shoulder. _Safe._

When he drops her to the ground, the Baudelaires are staring. Olivia can feel her cheeks grow warm; to avoid the children’s eyes, she focuses on brushing dust off her skirt.

“You must be the Baudelaires,” Jacques says with a smile, charming as always. “My name is Jacques Snicket; I knew your parents very well.”

“Hey!” yells a disembodied voice, somehow managing to maintain a monotone. “Where are you going?”

Jacques pauses, says, “And I’m afraid that a more formal introduction will have to come later,” and whirls around, striding back through the hole in the wall.

Inside the police station, Fernald and Orlando are arguing.

“I left for one minute,” Orlando says.

Fernald gestures wildly towards the ruined cell. “And look what happened! You’re going to have to tell the boss about this!”

“I don’t think they will,” says Jacques as he steps back into the cell.

The henchpeople turn to look at him at the same moment, both dumbstruck.

“Um,” says Violet, outside. “Is Jacques trying to reason with Olaf’s henchpeople?”

“It appears so,” Olivia replies, her heart in her throat. How could Jacques simply walk back into danger after he had just been rescued? He must have a reason, but she doesn’t understand it.

“Both of you have a lot more to offer than this,” Jacques begins. “Why waste your life serving terrible villainy when you could spend it doing some good in the world?”

“The definition of villainy is subjective, first of all,” says Orlando. “Reality tends to be a lot more nuanced than the binary concepts of good and evil generally allow, you know.”

“That may be true, but surely arson and murder fall on the evil side of the scale,” Jacques points out.

Orlando shrugs. “I’d argue arson --”

“We don’t have time for this!” Fernald exclaims, clearly frustrated with his associate.

“You’re right, you don’t,” says Jacques. “And neither do we. Let us leave quietly, and I swear, neither of you will meet the same fate as Olaf and Esme.”

“And what would that fate be?” Fernald snaps.

“Life imprisonment, most likely.”

There’s a beat of silence. “Why should we trust him?” Orlando asks Fernald, attempting to be surreptitious.

“We shouldn’t,” says Fernald, but he looks unsure.

Jacques turns to Orlando. “I think you’ll find that life is a lot more fulfilling when you’re an active participant rather than a spectator.”

Orlando looks at him passively, and then says, “I guess.”

“Alright, alright. If we did let you go, and you did keep your promise,” Fernald says to Jacques, “Would you force us to join your stupid organisation again?”

“There’s a reason we call ourselves _volunteers_ ,” says Jacques, smiling benignly.

“And I could see my sister?”

“That’s up to you, but I’m sure she’d love to be reunited.”

Fernald looks at Orlando; Orlando looks at Fernald.

“Alright, just go,” says Fernald heavily. “And take good care of that baby, okay?”

“You have my word,” replies Jacques. “Thank you, truly.”

As soon as he reappears outside, he grabs Olivia’s hand in his own, linking their fingers together; it feels more secure than anything she’s ever felt before. “I’ve bought us some time,” he tells her, head bowed towards hers, “but it won’t be enough without help. Luckily I know exactly the woman to call. She'll be able to get here quickly, too; she’s adept at hailing taxis.”

Olivia grins at that, squeezing Jacques’s hand tight. “Come on, Baudelaires,” she says. “Let’s go rescue the Quagmires.”


	3. Chapter 3

In the city, or more specifically in a fluorescent-lit office in the city branch of Mulctuary Money Management, a telephone rings.

“Jacquelyn, could you get that?” asks Mr Poe, and then coughs three times in quick succession.

Jacquelyn smiles pleasantly, wishing very, very hard that she could walk out and never have to hear that infernal cough again, and picks up the receiver on her desk. “Hello?” She already has an idea of who it might be.

“We have something of a situation.”

Jacquelyn immediately brushes a pen off the desk. It clatters to the floor, and she drops to her knees, away from any banker’s prying ears. She gives Mr Poe too much credit, but it never hurts to be cautious, even if her methods have absolutely no subtlety. “The line’s secure. What kind of a situation?”

“One set of children has been found, the other is still missing, I was just recently broken out of a rather unpleasant jail cell, a villainous count will soon be on our tail, and the tea supply is running dangerously low.”

Jacquelyn pauses to absorb this information. “That _is_ a situation.”

“How soon can you get here?”

She does some quick mental calculations. “Probably by this evening, if I can get away from _work_.” She doesn’t bother to try to hide the contempt in her voice.

“Alright, we’ll meet then. Keep tabs on your radio.”

“Always,” Jacquelyn replies as the other party hangs up. She pops up from under her desk a moment later, errant pen in hand. Mr Poe squints at her in suspicion. Jacquelyn smiles, the picture of innocence. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave early, sir,” she says.

“Early? You’ve only just arrived at work,” Mr Poe point out, arching an eyebrow. “Taking another one of your _unpaid_ sabbaticals?”

Jacquelyn notes the emphasis; she hadn’t taken this job for the money though, so it doesn’t much bother her. She’d much rather be out in the world risking her safety for the greater good than stuck in this claustrophobic room all day, listening to an oblivious banker cough and make terrible decisions regarding the lives of innocent orphans who deserve none of the unfortunate events that have befallen them.

“A family emergency,” she clarifies, adjusting her expression to convey suitable concern for said fictional family. Mr Poe sighs, rolls his eyes, and dismisses her with a wave of his hand; her responding smile may as well be fixed on her face with glue.

As soon as she’s left that horribly ill-decorated room, she pulls her little two-way radio out of one of the many pockets lining the inside of her jacket.

“Larry?” she says, the call buzzing with static as it searches for his signal.

“Right here, Jacquelyn,” he replies after a second, voice fuzzy.

“How would you like to pay a visit to the Hinterlands?” Jacquelyn asks as she steps out into the uncomfortably warm city air. A black motorbike comes trundling down the street, slowing as it nears the bank until she can identify its rider.

“Sounds like a vacation,” says Larry as he slows the bike to a stop. “I could use some time away from the city.”

“Did Jacques make contact?” Jacquelyn asks.

Larry nods quickly. “Just a minute ago. He works fast.”

“Well, that’s why he’s one of our best.” Jacquelyn looks down at her sober work outfit, and then sharply at the sidecar attached to Larry’s motorbike. “I may need to change,” she adds.

“Oh, don’t worry, I brought the appropriate attire,” says Larry, handing her a nondescript grey backpack. When she looks inside, there’s a folded pile of black leather, strikingly similar to Larry’s own outfit.

Jacquelyn has to smile. “What,"she asks, "would I do without you?"

“You’d be fine,” Larry says, waving the question away. “We’d better get moving.”

  


* * *

  


“What have we done?” Fernald mumbles to himself, pacing frantically from the bars of the destroyed cell to the wall covered in faded Wanted posters and back again. Orlando watches him without much interest. After another minute of this indistinct-mumbling-and-pacing routine, he stops abruptly, spins to face his fellow henchperson and says, “Really, what did we just do?”

“Um,” says Orlando. They’re not quite sure if an answer is actually needed or not. “We let the pris--”

“We let Snicket escape!” says Fernald, his voice high and panicked. “Okay! That really happened!”

“Actually, I'd say you were more involved than I was.”

Fernald glares. “I don’t think the boss will see it that way.”

“See what that way?” says a voice from behind him, and Fernald wonders if this is what physically jumping out of your own skin feels like.

Olaf is standing in the doorway - leaning against it actually, as if he’s been nonchalantly listening in the whole time. He’s wearing his latest disguise, a get-up that looks like he stole it from the set of a low budget 70s film; apparently he’s supposed to be a detective. If asked, Fernald would probably heap praise on the outfit, but privately he thinks it’s kind of tacky. There’s no point in kissing Olaf’s feet anymore, though (metaphorically, of course, he really doesn’t want to think about that situation in a literal sense), because Fernald estimates that he’ll most likely be dead in the next half an hour or so.

Olaf scowls as he steps into the room. “Well?” he continues. “Spit it out! We need Snicket ready, he’s integral to our -- wait.” He stops, tilts his head slightly, and Fernald smiles awkwardly, although he knows it’s useless; to his vague surprise, Orlando has moved to stand at his back, giving him support for whatever comes next. “Snicket’s awfully quiet,” Olaf muses, moving forward towards the cell. “Usually he can’t shut up about justice or poetry or whatever else VFD is obsessed with these days.”

“Um, about that --” Fernald begins, but it’s too late. Olaf has already seen the late morning light slanting into the cell, seen the escape route and the crumbled bricks littering the floor.

“He’s _gone_?”

“It was my fault,” says Orlando quickly; Fernald looks up at them in shock. Are they sacrificing themself? Fernald didn’t know they cared that much. “I left him unsupervised for a minute. When I got back, there was a hole in the wall and…” They falter for a moment as Olaf turns his attention towards them. “And he’d disappeared.”

Olaf stares at them, his expression changing from disbelieving to murderous in an instant. “Go find Snicket,” he says, voice low and threatening, ”or I swear,” and here he stalks forward and slowly curls his hands around Fernald’s wrists, “I will use these hooks to do _terrible_ things to both of you.”

“Yes, boss!” Fernald agrees, and hates himself for it as he pulls away from Olaf, quickly ushering Orlando out of the door into the open air.

If someone asked him why he’d decided to let Jacques Snicket escape without protest, he’d be reluctant to answer. He’s been following Olaf for a while now; to an onlooker, it must seem a drastic switch in loyalty. But the truth is - his conscious has been gnawing at him since the Baudelaires first arrived on Count Olaf’s doorstep. Before the children turned up, there had been amateur plays and petty thievery, but Fernald had never had to really hurt anyone. He’d come to the troupe in the first place mostly to spite his stepfather, but the further he followed Olaf’s plans, the worse off and more guilt-stricken he found himself to be.

He knows that his sister would be disappointed in him; he’s never been a great reader, a flaw that his stepfather has never been able to forgive, but Fiona has always believed in his ability to do good in other ways. He doesn’t know exactly how to go about it, but he wants to prove her right. He supposes that giving the Baudelaires more time to escape might have been a start.

He knows that Snicket’s taxi was parked around the side of the police station, but it’s gone by now. Orlando looks a little lost, standing in the dust outside the dilapidated building. “What do we do now?” they ask, making intense eye contact with a crow sitting on the rusty chain-link fence. The crow caws loudly and launches off from the fence, wheeling away into the sky.

“We get out of here,” Fernald replies, nodding as if he’s only just come to that decision. “We hope that Snicket keeps his end of the bargain, we disappear and we never get involved in any shady organisations again.” He laughs, breathy and slightly manic, at the thought of being free. Orlando looks at him; they aren’t smiling really, but there’s something around their eyes that suggests they like the idea too.

“I think we should tell the kids where their friends are,” they add, “since we’ve helped them already. Besides, if Olaf is in danger of going to prison, the only use he’d have for a sapphire fortune would be to bribe his way out of trouble. Which would probably work, given the corruption inherent in the modern justice system, so he shouldn’t get the chance.”

“They wouldn’t trust us,” Fernald points out. He doesn’t blame them, to be fair. But Fiona would say that it’s the right thing to do. “But I guess we should try.”

He isn’t sure _how_ they’re going to escape, but there’s no going back now. This village is so backwards that no one even has a car, but -- _huh_. There is one car that he knows of; he’s very familiar with it actually, its dirty seats and faulty transmission and frayed, exposed wiring. Olaf’s never had to think about his car being stolen because no self-respecting thief would touch it, but Fernald doesn’t have time for self-respect right now. _An eye for an eye._

“Come on,” he says to Orlando. “We need to go.”

For the first time since he last saw Fiona, the solid knot in his stomach is beginning, slowly, to untwist. He might be able to start breathing easy again, in time. They just have to run for their lives first.

  


* * *

  


Under any other circumstances, Olivia would describe the scene as peaceful. Hector and the Baudelaires are still in town, the children searching for the Quagmires under the guise of completing their daily chores, and the barn is quiet, spots of afternoon sunlight dappled across the floor. If it wasn’t for the fact that they’ll soon have the wrath of Count Olaf to contend with, Olivia thinks that she might be content in this moment, sharing this silent space with the man she might love.

Jacques is looking up at Hector’s airship with nothing short of wonder in his eyes. “I can’t believe he built it,” he murmurs, half to himself, as he runs a hand along the smooth hull of the airship. Olivia, ostensibly exploring through the bag of books slung over the side of the ship, finds herself unable to take her eyes off of him. It doesn’t seem like just last night that they were sitting in a cozy office, sure that their plan was coming to fruition.

Jacques catches her eye, smiles in a way that makes her heart dance, and begins to explain. “Hector’s been talking to Lemony and me about this for years; I wondered whether it was all speculation, but he’s done it.” He looks up at the ship again as he continues, softer now, “Finally, the last of our rank will be able to escape this place.”

Olivia places the book she was holding - the history of a lumber mill in a town that she’s never heard of - back into the bag with the rest of the makeshift library. “Who’s Lemony?” she asks after a moment, and Jacques face doesn’t fall exactly, but his features do freeze a little, as if this is a topic he wasn’t supposed to bring up.

“He’s my brother,” he replies. “And my partner, in VFD matters anyway. As is my sister.” His mouth curls, a little wistfully. “We made a good team.”

Olivia knows Jacques to be an intensely private person - spending most of your life embroiled in the affairs of a secret organisation will do that, she supposes - so this sudden candid turn in the conversation does startle her a little. But then, he’s already told her so much about VFD, and she knows that he trusts her in the same way she trusts him, instinctively and without question.

“Where are they now?” she asks, hoping that he doesn’t think she’s trying to pry.

“Kit holds a similar position to mine; she has her own taxi,” Jacques says, affection evident in his voice at his sister’s name. “Lemony is… Well, Lemony’s gone.”

Olivia’s heart drops right to her feet. “Jacques, I’m so sorry,” she says, moving forward without thinking to take his hand.

“It’s happened to the best,” he replies, holding her hand tightly.

There’s a second of silence as Jacques looks at her; his eyes are so searching and serious that she feels like he’s sifting through her soul, for flaws or strengths - she can’t tell.

“Are you sure you want to involve yourself in this, Olivia?” he asks, his voice so soft.

Olivia is sure that disbelief is written all over her face. “It’s a little late to be asking me that, don’t you think?” she replies.

Jacques blinks, his resultant smile maybe a little embarrassed. “I suppose it is,” he says, tipping his head towards hers.

She’s well aware of how close they are to each other. “I’m sure, Jacques,” she says. “This is the first time I’ve felt like I have a purpose. The children need us, but even once they’re safe -- I want to help people. I can’t let go of that just because it’s dangerous.”

_I can’t let go of you._

Jacques’s face is full of an expression that Olivia can’t pinpoint. “Olivia Caliban,” he murmurs, speaking her name like it’s precious and strong, “you remain, as you always have been, the most remarkable person I know.”

She doesn’t know how to answer, but as it turns out she doesn’t have to, because that’s when Jacques dips his head and presses his lips to hers. His mouth is soft and warm, and Olivia responds immediately by kissing him back, her mind wiped blank of all thoughts except _yes_ , _safe_ , _mine_. She finds herself tracing his jawline with one hand, fingertips scraping over faint stubble, and Jacques pulls her closer to him when his hands slip down to her waist. She can feel the heat emanating from his chest, solid and strong and good, yes -- in one word, Jacques Snicket, _good_ , the best person she’s ever met.

She isn’t sure how long the kiss lasts, or even who breaks it, but someone does, and then they’re standing pressed against each other, Jacques’s arms around her and their foreheads touched together. Jacques can’t find it in himself to regret his impulse. When he had previously thought about kissing Olivia for the first time, he had not imagined it to be in a dusty barn, in the middle of an unfinished mission with an arsonist and murderer hot on their heels. He’d been focused on getting it _right_ , fueled by the bright, harsh fear that he’d somehow cause her to run away if it wasn’t perfect.

It _is_ perfect, just by virtue of the woman in his arms, because of her bravery, her kindness - he could go on forever. She’s not going to run away.

He had never understood why his brother was so enthralled by Beatrice; of course Lemony had loved her, but to spend his every waking moment thinking, talking, writing about her? Jacques recalls a few utterly terrible love sonnets that his brother had penned in his teenage years, and how Kit had howled with laughter at every clumsy metaphor. If Jacques ever sees Lemony again, he makes a mental note to apologise; he hadn’t understood then, but he does now.

There’s a streak of guilt colouring his happiness, though. He never lied to Olivia in the classical sense of the word, merely chose his words carefully, but it may as well be the same thing. She’ll understand once he tells her the truth, which he will as soon as he has time to explain the whole story (and Lemony has sent him a signal of his safety, intermittent as they may be), but still, he doesn't like withholding the truth from her. He resolves, as he lifts his hands to brush her hair away from her face, to never do it again.

“Jacques,” she begins, lifting her head to look him in the eyes, but she finds that she doesn’t know how to continue. She’s still reeling, and all she can think about is the open affection on his face, the soft smile in response as he drops another kiss into her hair.

Olivia closes her eyes and allows herself some time, as she rests her head against his shoulder, to simply be.

The quiet moment is shattered a second later as the barn door slides open noisily and Hector and the children all but collapse inside. Jacques and Olivia share a longing glance before they break apart from each other, too quickly for the frantic children to notice.

“Jacques!” exclaims Violet, rushing towards the adults with Klaus in tow, a vaguely disgruntled-looking Sunny bouncing on her hip. “Olaf is --”

“We know where --” Klaus interrupts.

“He’s trying to --” Violet adds.

“Grahp!” Sunny yells.

“Slow down, Baudelaires,” Olivia says, holding out her hands. “One at a time, otherwise we won’t get anywhere. Violet?” She looks expectantly at the oldest sibling.

“Olaf is looking for Jacques,” she says, skittish with nerves. “He’s disguised himself as a detective and has convinced the villagers that Count Olaf and his associates are hiding out somewhere in town. He’s going to frame you for his crimes.”

“Which doesn’t make any sense, given that you look nothing like Count Olaf,” Klaus adds, “but I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised, since nearly every adult we’ve met lately has absolutely terrible facial recognition skills.” His tone holds more bitterness than a twelve year old boy should be able to express.

“The village has formed a mob to look for you,” Violet continues as if her brother hadn’t spoken. “It won’t be long until they get here!”

“That’s not everything, though,” says Klaus, squirming with the need to impart urgent information. “We know where the Quagmires are. Well, maybe, it’s a little unclear.”

Olivia’s breath catches in her throat. “Where?” she asks, keeping words to a minimum in the interest of time.

“That’s the thing, it makes no sense! Two of Olaf’s henchpeople approached us, told us that the Quagmires were hidden in Fowl Fountain, and then just… ran off. But how would that work? They’re trying to distract us with false facts -- they must be planning an ambush.” Olivia can almost see the gears in Klaus’s head whirring at high speed.

“Would these henchpeople happen to possess hooks for hands and an androgynous appearance?” Jacques asks, silent until now as he plans their next step.

Sunny shrieks unintelligibly.

“Sunny says it was them,” Violet explains, “and she thinks we should trust them.”

“I agree with your sister,” Jacques says.

Olivia gives him an incredulous look. “You think we should trust them after they captured you?”

“I do,” Jacques confirms, bringing a hand to rest gently at the small of her back. The look on his face sets an equal mixture of worry and excitement curling in her stomach; he looks like he has a plan. “But we’ll be more prepared this time. We’ll have a very functional distraction.” He gestures towards the hot-air mobile home with his free hand.

Hector’s face immediately drains of all colour, but then he shuts his eyes for a second, takes a breath and pulls himself fully upright. “I was planning on taking off within the next few days,” he says, “and it _is_ getting close to cocktail hour.” He regards his airship for a beat, as if in assessment, and then concludes, “I have a few more things to pack, but everything should be ready in the next half hour.”

His estimate is nearly exactly correct; the last of Hector’s things are packed and the sun is just beginning to touch the horizon when he steps back, holding the village rulebook in his hands, and defiantly thumps the massive tome down onto a workbench. The Baudelaires, keeping watch at the barn door, can see the indistinct shape of a cluster of people across the flat land towards town; the mob is on its way.

“Goodbye Jacques, goodbye Olivia,” Hector says as he climbs up into the hull of the mobile home. He looks down at them with excitement and a little fear shining in his eyes. “Goodbye Baudelaires. I really did enjoy our time together. I think it turned out to be a lot more eventful than any of us thought it would be.”

“It certainly did,” Violet agrees. “Goodbye, Hector.”

The group of adults and children exit the barn quickly, making their way around to Jacques’s taxi in its clandestine spot behind the tumble-down structure. As they watch, the roof of the barn opens up, and the airship slowly begins to float upwards; it’s an impressive sight, made more dramatic by the crows who circle around it, cawing loudly at the unfamiliar object.

Jacques curls his arm around Olivia’s shoulders as he watches his friend make his escape. She’s beautiful in the golden light, and he can’t help but imagine the future, after all of this is over - a future of her, and him, and the children.

The airship slowly steers itself west, away from the town, and the Baudelaires watch as the crowd turns with it, moving off the beaten track.

“It should be safe now,” Jacques concedes after a minute, one foot already in his taxi. “We should have enough time.”

He opens the passenger door from the inside, and Olivia slides into the seat; with him beside her and the Baudelaires bundling into the back, it feels something like coming home.

The trip back to town is dusty and silent, no one willing to admit their excitement at plans working in their favour for a change. Once arrived, the children tumble out of the back of the car and are on their feet in moments, racing to Fowl Fountain with Jacques and Olivia following behind. The square is deserted, nothing but feathers scattered across the ground, and the silhouette of the fountain against the sunset sky is huge and ominous.

“I hope this is the place,” Klaus murmurs, half to himself.

“Klaus, Isadora left us a clue,” Violet says. “Maybe it’ll help us figure out what to do.”

Klaus nods, and sets to looking through the pockets of his jacket. He produces the couplets after a second, and everyone crowds around to inspect them.

“Sad beak,” Klaus repeats to himself. “That’s been bothering me; it isn’t part of Isadora’s style to use florid metaphors.”

“What if she means the beak of the fountain?” Violet points out. Behind them, Olivia has to marvel at how intelligent these children are. She can tell Jacques is proud of them too, from the look in his eye.

Violet considers, and then hands Sunny to Klaus. “Jacques?” she asks. “Could you give me a boost?”

“Of course,” he says, stepping forward to scoop the girl up. Violet places her hands around the stone to hold her steady and peers into the statue’s beak.

“It must mean something,” Klaus continues. “She chose ‘beak’ specifically.”

“I think this is --” Violet says, moving her hands along the rough stone; the crow’s beak makes a scraping sound, stone against stone, as it moves just slightly. “Yes!” Violet pulls down, and the beak opens wide, the bird’s head pulling back as its chest opens to reveal a cavity, and --

“Quagmires!” Violet calls as Jacques sets her back on her feet.

The two children are disheveled and exhausted-looking, still wearing their Prufrock Prep uniforms, but they scramble down from the fountain and greet the Baudelaires with smiles and a hug each.

“How did you find us so quickly?” Isadora asks. “You didn’t get all of the poems.”

“We had help from an, uh - unexpected source,” Klaus replies. It’s the first time, Olivia notes, that she’s seen him really smile.

“Ms Caliban?” says Duncan as he looks over at her, confusion written all over his face. “What are you doing here?” She notices that his words echo Klaus’s from the night before exactly; it must be the least of these children’s questions.

“Hello, Quagmires,” Olivia greets them. “You deserve an explanation, but I’m afraid it’ll have to wait until we’re somewhere safer.”

“Olivia and I came to this village to rescue you ourselves, but the Baudelaires managed to take care of that,” Jacques adds, his smile proud. “I’m Jacques Snicket. I was a close friend of your parents, and the Baudelaires. There are…” he pauses, looking for the right words. “A lot of secrets that your parents never told you, but we’ll do our best to bring you up to speed.”

Olivia slides a hand onto Jacques’s shoulder, her happiness almost overwhelming, as she says, “We’re going to keep you safe.”

They are so, so far away from safety in this moment, but still, she knows it to be true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/critique would be highly appreciated <3


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